


Darling, Let’s Make a Mess

by samanthahirr



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Biting, Canon-Typical Violence, Coitus Interruptus, Competence Kink, Enthusiastic Consent, Filthy, Fingerfucking, Gun Violence, Lap Sex, M/M, Messy, Mission Fic, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Praise Kink, Wet & Messy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-01-12 17:35:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18451355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samanthahirr/pseuds/samanthahirr
Summary: “You've got a three-man hit squad outside your door, with another three waiting in the stairwell—” Merlin’s warning cuts off with an outraged squawk. “Oh come on! Will you two put on some fucking pants already!”Or, that time Eggsy and Harry are rudely interrupted before Eggsy gets off. Good thing Harry doesn't plan on leaving him hanging.





	Darling, Let’s Make a Mess

**Author's Note:**

  * For [innie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/innie/gifts).



> Beta by [cinaea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinaea/pseuds/cinaea).

Eggsy loves Harry like this, gloriously thick cock sliding in and out of Eggsy’s arse, Harry so close to coming his eyes are glazed over. Eggsy takes advantage of the well-sprung mattress to bounce on Harry’s lap again and again, dotting kisses to Harry’s brow, his scarred temple. Harry fails to stifle a groan as Eggsy drops down onto his thighs and clenches tightly. 

“That’s it, love,” Eggsy says. He slides his fingers into Harry’s gelled hair to muss his careful part and freeing the rakish curls. Eggsy yanks on that thick hair, knowing just what it’ll do to Harry, fancies he can feel the precome Harry’s surely leaking inside him. Eggsy rocks his hips in a ruthlessly slow grind. Once he has the angle right where he likes it best, Harry’s cock bumping up against his prostate and making sparks flicker behind his eyelids, Eggsy sighs and settles in for a moment’s rest.

“Fucking hell,” Harry grouses in that deliciously posh accent, and Eggsy grins against Harry’s cheek, waiting him out. Harry’s big hands slide around to squeeze his cheeks, urging Eggsy up again. “Move, you lazy git!”

Eggsy laughs, delighted. “I dunno, I’m mighty comfy right here.” He shimmies a little, gasping as the slick pressure amplifies again, and dips his head down to steal a brief kiss.

“You impudent, dreadful thing—”

Eggsy feels the shift as Harry plants his feet on the floor. Before Harry can thrust up, Eggsy mollifies him with a real kiss, a nip and tug at Harry’s lower lip, sweet and intimate like they haven’t had since they arrived in Munich. Even this shag is technically on the clock—they’ve done a splendid job convincing the Moroccan arms dealer that Harry is a shady weapons manufacturer with a penchant for fondling his attractive young assistant under the dinner table. (Merlin may not have enjoyed playing spectator to that particular improvisation, but it’s worth aggravating their friend to avoid a week of separate hotel rooms.) 

For a moment Eggsy’s chest aches with longing for their bedroom in their London townhouse. All the pricey furnishings of this boutique hotel don’t hold a candle to the privacy to shout Harry’s real name to the rafters, instead of only whispered in his ear. 

Harry growls into the kiss, obviously impatient, and Eggsy feels it, too. So he lifts up and starts a new pace, this one fast and hard, designed to finish them both off quickly.

“Yeah, give it to me. You know you want to. Shoot inside my arse, come on. Get me all dirty inside." 

When Harry comes, he clutches Eggsy’s shoulder and groans against his throat as his muscles shake. Eggsy pauses to savor Harry’s release, his own need briefly shoved to the background as Harry holds him tight. 

Harry’s hips jerk, his cock shuddering inside Eggsy, and Eggsy moans at the sensation, the slide getting easier with Harry’s come. “Feels so good, Harry,” he whispers.

“Eggsy,” Harry breathes. “God.” 

Harry’s shoulders heave as he catches his breath, crinkly chest hair rubbing against Eggsy’s nipples, and Eggsy hums with pleasure. Fuck, he loves this part, Harry satisfied but still hard inside him, his broad hands stroking like he can’t get enough of Eggsy’s skin, while Eggsy savors the plateau before getting his own. His thighs are just starting to burn, and he rocks in Harry’s lap, gets Harry’s cock bumping up against his prostate again. The jolt of pleasure makes him clench down, and Harry hisses sharply.

“Getting impatient, darling?” Harry asks. His hand slides around to pinch Eggsy’s nipple, and Eggsy bucks hard.

“Don’t mean to rush you,” Eggsy pants. “If you need to take a few minutes—” He can’t suppress his cheeky grin.

Harry snorts, inelegant and ruined by the sated curve of his mouth. “Just for that, I’m going to drag this out. How long do you think you can last before you scream?” He trails his knuckles down Eggsy’s stomach, fingertips glancing against the shaft of Eggsy’s cock. 

When Harry sets his mind to accomplishing something, he makes damned sure it happens. Eggsy shivers with anticipation. 

And then he freezes. 

Harry goes still beneath him as the echo of the fire door slamming down the hall is followed by a male voice, harsh and clipped. They don’t need to confer before they’re both up and moving, Harry taking cover behind the tall wardrobe, Eggsy rolling for the nightstand. Eggsy slides on his glasses and double-taps the sensor as he takes up a crouched position below the edge of the bed with his pistol. 

In his ear, Merlin drawls, “Done so soon? I figured you were gonna take the whole—”

“Possible incoming,” Eggsy snaps.

Merlin goes silent while he scans the hotel’s surveillance feeds, and Eggsy shares a glance with Harry. He’s braced behind the frosted glass wardrobe, body glistening with sweat, flushed all the way from his brow to his wet, softening cock. With his pistol in his right hand and walking cane-shotgun braced under his left arm, he’s all long, lithe muscle, a vision of raw power that Eggsy’s lusted after since he first saw him in a posh suit outside the police station. 

Eggsy’s neglected cock throbs at the sight of him.

The hallway is quiet again. Eggsy prays it’s a false alarm, purely so he can push Harry down on the bed, rub against him, and come all over his chest.

“Three at your door, another three in the stairwell—” Merlin’s urgent report cuts off with a squawk of outrage “—oh come on! Will you put on some fucking pants already! Jesus, Harry!”

Eggsy belatedly blocks the mini-camera lens with his palm and signals three-and-three.

Harry raises an eyebrow and smirks. “Perhaps we came on too strong with Mr. Benkaddour.” 

“Seeing as he’s currently trying to hack into your alias’s Caiman Island accounts, I should say so. Tell Harry to put on his glasses— _after_ you’ve clothed yourself, mind. I’ll find you an exit.” 

Eggsy scrabbles across the mattress to scoop up and toss Harry his glasses. “ETA to breach?” Eggsy asks Merlin. 

“They’re still checking their gear. I’ll give you a five-second countdown. Now put on a pair of bloody trousers!” Eggsy rolls his eyes but sets his gun down, trusting Merlin to make good on that promise of a warning, and hauls a pair of trousers out of the rumpled sheets on the floor. He spies Harry digging into the wardrobe for a fresh suit, the prissy bastard, but averts his gaze for Merlin’s sake until Harry’s arse is covered.

What feels like mere seconds later, Merlin says “4, 3, 2—” 

Eggsy just has time to slip on his bulletproof suit jacket before the door bursts open and they’re taking fire. He dives to the floor and shoots the two ankles he can see under the bed. Harry’s shotgun blast forces the intruders back into the hallway, and Eggsy kneels up and makes a solid head shot before they duck out of sight.

Merlin’s voice is reassuring in their ears. “Once you’ve dealt with this lot, the exit is at the left end of the hall, Room 313. Take the balcony across to the next building.”

Benkaddour’s security team are trained professionals who had come planning a quick and stealthy assassination—Eggsy gives them props for the suppressors on their pistols. But they also came prepared for resistance. Eggsy sees the barrel of the M4 carbine coming around the edge of the doorway and yells, “Down!” just before the trendy wardrobe shatters in a million pieces of lucite. 

Harry grunts as he crashes against Eggsy’s shoulder behind the bed. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen my shoes?” he asks.

Eggsy fishes them out from under the bed and shoves them at Harry with a wild grin before returning fire.

When the carbine stops to reload, Eggsy nods to Harry and vaults over the bed. He makes another head shot, taking off an ear and a good chunk of skull before somersaulting to dodge the next wave of bullets. One shot center-mass, and the carbine goes silent for good. Harry rushes forward, grabs his suit jacket off the arm chair, and barrels into the last gunman standing in the doorway. One quick twist and yank, and Harry snaps the man’s neck with the sleeves of the jacket, then fires a single shot down the hall, taking out the last of the strike team. 

Eggsy’s blood sings with adrenaline and lustful admiration of Harry’s brutal effectiveness. He'll never get tired of watching him work. Eggsy does up another button on his trousers, palms his still-hard cock, and has a mad thought of shoving Harry against the wall for a celebratory wank—it'll hardly take a minute.

But Merlin clears his throat and reminds them of Benkaddour’s next round of men heading up from the lobby. Harry tucks his cane under his arm, tosses a cigarette lighter-grenade into the hotel room safe, and motions gallantly for Eggsy to exit ahead of him. 

“You’re fucking mental,” Eggsy says, and he doesn’t even care that it comes out breathless and adoring, not with Harry’s hand tucked against his lower back, sweeping him into the hallway just before the bomb destroys their briefcase of counterfeit Euros and half the hotel room.

“More hustle, gentlemen,” Merlin says.

Harry winks at Eggsy.

“I saw that,” Merlin grumbles.

The occupants of room 313 appear to have fled in haste—good on ‘em—and it’s only a short drop from the balcony railing to the moonlit roof of a neighboring townhouse. By the time they make their way to street level, several houses down the block, they’re mostly fit to be seen in public. Eggsy managed to don his trousers, shoes, and jacket before the party crashers burst in. Harry has the same, plus a tailored shirt with buttons only slightly askew. Between the sex hair, sweat, and general dishevelment, they should look like two blokes who just shagged, not killed six people in a gunfight. 

Merlin guides them to the nearest U-Bahn station, keeping up a running monologue on the progress of the arms dealer’s forces and local police response. Harry slides an arm over Eggsy’s shoulders as they pass a group of pedestrians, tipping his head down into Eggsy’s hair while Eggsy ducks against his throat. The rush of Harry’s breath against his scalp helps to distract from the slow leak of come and lube tickling Eggsy’s sensitive skin, making him feel every bit the well-used rent boy he probably looks.

In under ten minutes, they’re in the station and slipping around a corner into a maintenance corridor, where a dirty cement block slides away to reveal first a biometrically locked door and then a 3x2 meter bolt hole beyond.

Eggsy whistles at the crates upon crates of ammunition and weaponry crammed into the small space. “There’s enough firepower in here to take Buckingham Palace.”

“I was here in ‘03, I think.” Harry runs his fingers over a slightly dusty crate before lifting the lid to reveal boxes of assorted-caliber bullets. “Good to see they’ve updated the inventory.” He pulls his pistol from his waistband and pops the cartridge to begin reloading. 

“Too bad they didn’t leave room for actual _people_ ,” Eggsy mutters. Aside from the crates and the narrow bit of walkway between them, there’s only a toilet and a sink seated on the far wall. A sigh slips out when he thinks of the massive tub in their hotel room. He’d had _plans_ for that tub tonight.

“I seem to recall….” Harry tugs on a knotted cord hanging against the wall. The knot unspools, releasing a wall-mounted metal cot. The bed collapses into a horizontal position, landing with a clang atop an aluminium case labeled “C4.” 

Eggsy recoils in horror. “Are we supposed to sleep on that? And somehow _not_ blow ourselves up in the middle of the night?”

“I don’t think it was meant for two,” Harry frets, ignoring Eggsy’s far more pressing qualms about sleeping atop high explosives.

“It’s the best safe house Kingsman has in Munich, so stop your whining,” Merlin butts in. “Is anyone interested in hearing your extraction plan?”

Eggsy huffs and rolls his eyes where Harry’s glasses will pick up the visual, and Harry smirks back.

“Go ahead, Merlin.”

“I’m having new passports couriered to you. Bedivere will arrive on the 6:55 a.m. express; watch for a dead drop on the platform. You two will return home on the 8:15. As your covers are blown—or at least, will be killed on sight—Bedivere will proceed to execute Contingency D.”

“I take it he’ll be wanting the Steyr,” Harry says, already pulling out a long rifle case.

“Indeed. Make the swap, and I’ll meet you at your office for tea and debrief.”

“Agreed. Thank you, Merlin.”

“And pick up a bottle of Becherovka. You owe me, after flashing your bollocks all over my screens today. You realize all that footage gets archived as part of the mission report, right? Jules is going to have to annotate your arse with time codes.”

“Isn’t Jules the one with the crush on Eggsy? That’s just cruel.” 

If Eggsy rolls his eyes anymore times today they’re going to stick that way. Harry just twinkles his dimples as he baits Merlin.

“No, Jules has the crush on _you_ , which is why I’m sending him Eggsy’s glasses feed instead of a Christmas bonus. It’s everyone else on my staff who’s in love with Eggsy.”

“Too bad for them, then. ‘Cause I just killed three guys with Harry’s come leaking out my arse, so you can tell your boys and girls I’m properly taken.”

“And on that appallingly graphic note,” Merlin says, “I’ll see you when you get back. Try not to cause any more incidents tonight, gentlemen.”

“Of course,” Harry says absently, already setting his glasses on the cot.

“Right, speaking of,” Eggsy says, reminded how sodden the seam of his trousers has become. He tosses his glasses alongside Harry’s and strips off his jacket as he heads for the sink. “Does this place have any towels we can use for washing up? And changes of clothes for tomorrow?”

“Eggsy.” Harry prowls after him and crowds him against the sink until Eggsy turns to face him. Harry’s gaze is hungry. “I believe I left you unsatisfied before.”

He shrugs. “Weren’t your fault.”

“Nevertheless.” Harry tips Eggsy’s chin up for a kiss and slips a hand around to squeeze his arse, fingernails catching on the seam of his trousers. “Allow me to pick up where we left off.”

Eggsy’s cock twitches at the caress. Honestly, he’d love nothing more than to get Harry’s cock back in him again and finish what those goons so rudely interrupted. But that isn’t possible—not yet anyway. “Don’t make like you’re ready to go again, Harry, I know what your refractory time is.”

Harry shifts his hands around to Eggsy’s fly. “Dear boy,” he murmurs, nuzzling at Eggsy’s lips, “though there may be a slight delay in the proceedings, do you really think I would deny you anything? Or deny myself the pleasure of giving it to you?”

Harry’s voice ripples through him, low and sensual, making Eggsy’s pulse race all on its own. A post-mission blowjob would be bloody fantastic. Eggsy sighs happily, leaning a little against Harry’s taller body and craning up for another kiss. 

Harry pops the first two buttons open and whispers, “I believe I promised to make you scream for me.”

“Yeah? How're you gonna do that?”

“Oh, Eggsy.” Instead of pulling out Eggsy’s cock, Harry’s right hand wriggles down the back of his loosened trousers. He unerringly finds where Eggsy is still a little swollen, and Harry strokes slowly over the slick mess he left there. 

Eggsy squirms, not sure whether there’s enough lube left on him, but he widens his legs for it all the same, and Harry pushes two fingers in as easy as that. “Fuck,” Eggsy chokes, clenching around the digits as Harry pumps in and out gently. “Okay, okay, oh god.” Fingers are also good, and Harry’s are damn near miraculous. Eggsy’ll take them anyway he can get them, whether they’re adjusting the knot of Eggsy’s tie, or handing him a fresh clip, or working deep inside him like this, proving that Harry knows Eggsy inside-and-out.

“Still so wet for me. Because of me,” Harry says. Eggsy realizes he’s clutching Harry’s shirt and decides to put his hands to better use unbuttoning the damn thing.

Harry guides Eggsy backward to lean against the metal sink, has him lift his left leg up Harry’s hip and keep it there. Eggsy’s grateful for the support, but he loses a lot of leverage in this position. His cock is still trapped in his sagging trousers, Harry’s pelvis tantalizingly close yet too far to rub against. And like this, Harry has just the right angle to crook his fingers shallowly, pressing and pulling at the rim from the inside. The sudden ache makes Eggsy’s fingers spasm, and he fumbles a mother of pearl button, nearly tearing it off.

“Darling boy,” Harry murmurs in his ear, voice ragged with emotion, a sound that’s direct-wired to Eggsy’s cock and makes his breath stutter. “Do you have any idea how beautiful you looked tonight? How deadly, how ruthless? That flip off the bed—you took my breath away.”

A kiss to Harry’s collarbone is the perfect excuse for Eggsy to duck his face where Harry can’t see it. Harry’s praise has always felt like a gift he never deserved and now could never live without. And with the confident way he’s handling Eggsy, this filthy and possessive act, using his own come to slick his way, it’s all Eggsy can do not to whine like a grateful mutt. 

“In all my years at Kingsman, you’re the very best I’ve seen. You make it look like art, like a dance. Your lethality is dazzling.”

Eggsy closes his eyes and pants against Harry’s throat. It’s a struggle to form words, to grit out, “If you’re gonna talk like that, you’d better kiss me again.”

Harry chuckles and scissors his fingers some more. “Anything you want. But first—” and there’s the third finger, a bit of a burn without fresh lube, but worth it, god, so worth it. The knot of Harry’s long fingers burrows into him and twists, and Eggsy accidentally-on-purpose rips Harry’s shirt wide open, buttons pinging to the floor. In retaliation, Harry thrusts hard and fast, setting a brutal pace.

Eggsy sees stars when Harry finds his mark, the first thrust against his prostate sending Eggsy up on his toes. It rips a cry from his lips, and another, and Harry doesn’t slow down, locked on target and just as ruthless in his quest to make Eggsy scream. Every forceful shove of Harry’s knuckles past his rim, every rough drag as he pulls out, makes sweat drip down Eggsy’s spine, makes him pant for air. And somehow Harry keeps talking, calling him _dearest_ and _gorgeous_ and _mine all mine_ —Eggsy catches the words in snatches between his moans, and they make his heart feel like it’s bruising itself against his ribs. 

“Let me see you,” Harry says. His clean hand catches the back of Eggsy’s neck and urges him to meet Harry’s gaze. 

He feels flayed open like this, laid bare, but it’s the same for Harry; the adoration and eagerness in Harry’s eyes are as heady as morphine and twice as addictive.

Eggsy still hasn’t gotten his kiss. He grabs hold of Harry’s open collar and drags him down, closer but not close enough. “Please, Harry, please, you promised—”

Harry swears and pulls Eggsy up into a deep kiss, devouring Eggsy’s mouth as though he’d rather kiss Eggsy than breathe. 

Eggsy’s legs are close to giving out from the constant jolts of pleasure. His left knee slips lower on Harry’s hip, his right thigh trembles, and Eggsy gasps, “Gonna fall—”

Harry snarls wordlessly and leans Eggsy back over the sink, until the squared-off lip digs cold and hard into Eggsy’s thigh. “Hold on,” Harry orders, and Eggsy forces his leg back into position, both arms wrapped around Harry’s neck to keep from lying on the faucet. Harry’s hips rock with the next few thrusts of his fingers, like he’s trying to fuck the orgasm out of Eggsy with his full body. It’s almost enough, too, when Harry’s hips finally press against Eggsy’s trapped cock, startling a hiccup of desperate laughter out of Eggsy.

“That’s it, almost there,” Harry croons. He braces his arm against the wall and stares down at Eggsy as he circles his hips in tandem with a firm swirl around Eggsy’s prostate. 

Eggsy whines, his hips twisting helplessly between the friction against his cock and the maddening pressure on his prostate. 

Harry keeps going, so sweetly demanding as he drags the pleasure out of him. “Are you ready to scream for me?”

“Harry, please,” Eggsy cries. The spiral in his gut winds tighter and tighter, flashes of sensation shooting down his limbs and out to his fingers and toes like sparks. One more grind of Harry’s hips, and Eggsy comes, clamping down around Harry’s fingers, arched up and sinking his teeth in Harry’s shoulder, screaming into his ruined shirt as he’s utterly overwhelmed. 

Harry holds him through it, stroking Eggsy’s neck, dropping kisses against his temple. When Eggsy’s leg sinks to the floor, Harry finally slips his fingers out and helps Eggsy to stand up. 

Eggsy snuggles into Harry’s chest and mutters, “Wipe that smug look off your face,” as Harry pets him possessively. Harry snorts, tugs Eggsy’s come-soaked trousers up for him, and guides him to sit. 

When Eggsy looks down, he sees he’s on a tarp-covered crate full of god-knows-what kind of munitions. Well whatever. Lube and come stains can hardly hurt it.

“How do you feel?” Harry drapes his own jacket over Eggsy’s shoulders and sits next to him, cuddling him close. 

“Sore. Amazing. Sticky.” He lifts his head to catch Harry’s eyes. “You’re fucking filthy, love.”

“I do my best.” Harry smooths the sweaty bangs from Eggsy’s forehead and kisses him again. “Want me to clean you up?”

 _Yes_ is on the tip of his tongue—he loves it when Harry pampers him. But they have a long and cramped night ahead of them in this bolt hole, and Eggsy has a good idea how he’d like to pass the time. “You could, but....” Eggsy slips his hand into Harry’s lap to pet the bulge of his semi-hard cock.

Harry looks like he’s swallowed his tongue.

Eggsy smiles and licks his lips. “What do you say? Want to get me a little dirtier first?”


End file.
